Coming Back
by Beamer
Summary: Spike's got his soul back, but where did it come from? WIP
1. Default Chapter

TITLE: Coming Back 1/?

AUTHOR: Beamer

SPOILERS: Everything up to and including the great resouling scene in 'Grave', goes AU after that.

DISCLAIMER: I bow down in supplication before the great and merciful Joss, high upon his throne. I offer up praise and thanks in the form of this invocation and many libations for the gifts he has bestowed upon me.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Kes and Valerie give good beta. My roommate thinks I am insane for doing this, but has promised not to lock me up for it. 

DISTRIBUTION: Ask, and ye shall receive.

FEEDBACK: This is one of those trick questions right? Like on forms where it says sex, and you go, yes please, only to realize what they really mean is gender. Okay, yes, feedback is nectar of the gods to fanfic writers. 

And they're handing down my sentence now  
And I know what I must do  
Another mile of silence while I'm  
Coming back to you

       -Leonard Cohen

       ~~~~~

It was around midnight, and there was a gentle breeze playing in the air. The first of the autumn leaves danced upon the ground. His eyes were down cast as he lumbered into town, looking like any other homeless man wandering aimlessly. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of the worn blue wool navy P coat he'd swiped from the body of a dead man. A dead man found that way in a boxcar of a freight train, thank you very much. The black jeans he wore were ripped at the knees, the fabric worn thin and frail by too many months of repeated wear, his boots covered in duct tape, holding the soles together. Pausing, he lifted his head just enough to see the sign, the glow of a streetlight glinting in his tired ice blue eyes. It wasn't only his eyes that looked tired; there was something about the way he carried him self that exuded exhaustion. He sighed, blowing a wayward platinum tipped curl out of his eyes.

****

**_Welcome To Sunnydale_**

**_Enjoy Your Stay_**

****

       "Home Sweet, Fucking Home," he sighed half heartedly, resisting the strong urge to give the sign a good hard kick before he continued on his way, looking over his shoulder to see if his companion was still following him. 

As he passed the sign, Spike wondered briefly if she'd be out patrolling. He hoped she'd made an early night of it because he wasn't ready to see her yet. They'd come across each other sooner or later; he just prayed it was later. He knew he needed to see her, otherwise what was it all for? The tests, the soul? All for her just like everything he'd done for the last two years.

 There weren't many people out as he walked through town, and those who were stupid enough to be wandering around after dark were too busy heading home to pay him much attention. What was it about the people of this town, that they were so deep in denial that there was anything wrong in their fair city? A population so blind to what really went on around them that they willingly walked around like entrées on a menu. He shook his head at the thought. Denial, the name is Sunnydale; the people of Sunnydale simply could not be bothered to see anything they did not want to. This was why no one bothered him, avoiding eye contact when they did see him. Spike was not a pretty sight.  He hadn't had a decent meal in weeks, and the way his jeans hung told him he'd lost weight. There a rough beard growing on his chin, and hair that hadn't needed much maintenance before Africa was an uncontrollable mass of curls sweeping his collar. He knew if he didn't have it cut soon he'd have a head covered in dreadlocks with platinum white tips and wheat blonde roots. Maybe he wouldn't bleach it again, give Xander a few less names to call him. 

Now there was a face he was not eager to see anytime soon. Xander would not hesitate to run a stake through his heart the second he laid eyes on him, and not even bother to ask questions later. He'd nearly done so already, and probably wouldn't have been successful if Buffy and Anya hadn't stopped him. It would have been for the best, really, if they hadn't stopped him. Then _it wouldn't have happened and he wouldn't be feeling… No, he wasn't going to go there. Best to just avoid that train of thought all together, best to avoid brooding, and best to avoid anyone who was known to carry stakes on their person at all times. With that in mind, he stayed as far away as possible from the Bronze where he knew the risk of running into any of the Scoobies was very high._

"Wow."

Spike stopped at the sound of her voice. It took him by surprise; she'd been quiet for so long

When he looked up he saw that they were standing in front of the Magic Box.  The hand lettered sign in the window announced that they were closed indefinitely, but their website was still up and ready to accept orders. As he peered through the window into the empty shop it became clear to him that something big had happened. The structural damage was bad, the loft where they had kept the dark magic books had collapsed and there seemed to be a hole in the brick wall between the shop and the training room as well as in the ceiling. The walls were charred and the display cases demolished.

"Wow is right," he agreed. "Wonder what happened."

 Pulling back from the window he gave a startled cry as a gaunt face peered back at him through the glass. 

"Bloody hell," he muttered as the momentary panic subsided. _What a ponce, three months and the sight of his own reflection still gave him the wiggins. _

"Wonder if I'll ever get used to that?" he asked, turning to her. Her only response was a wan smile; she was silent again. Watching her, Spike found himself wishing that someone else could see her the way she was now.

She was different; death had changed her. Made her more regal, if that was at all possible. Even dressed in the blue shirt and jeans she had died in, Tara was more stunning than Botticelli's Venus. Yet again, he found himself wondering what she was, why she was there. That she was some kind of spirit was obvious, but why she was haunting him he couldn't figure. She had been there ever since he woke up on the cavern floor. It was Tara that had kept him sane, soothed him when the guilt would threaten to consume him. During their trek back to Sunnydale, whenever they talked, it was about art or history, anything but Sunnydale. Gradually he had come to learn that they shared some kind of connection; that she could see into his head, and vice versa. She had laughed when she discovered the truth behind the moniker William the Bloody and he hadn't really minded, not after the initial pain and embarrassment had worn off. He simply countered with the intimate details of getting caught kissing Betty Jennings behind the ball shed during recess.

 She was a part of him now, as much as the demon was and he suddenly found himself wishing he'd gotten to know her better when she had been alive. But things had been different then. He would have never noticed her the way he did now. Would have never noticed how her face was kind, or how her eyes seemed to covey wisdom beyond her years. And if he closed his eyes, he could swear that he could still smell the jasmine and cinnamon that had hung in the air whenever she had been around. But that was just a memory, right? Because spirits, or whatever it was that she was now didn't emit an odor, right?

 She gave him a soft smile when she caught him looking at her

"Home?" she asked him.

"Lay on MacDuff." He gestured grandly, indicating he would follow.

They continued on in silence and he wished she'd say something, anything just so his mind wouldn't be drawn the bench where he and Dru had drained a homeless man, because once his mind got going on that, there would be no stopping the agonizing flood of regret and self loathing. What's done was done. No sense in dwelling on it, of wallowing in guilt for everything he'd ever done, because he couldn't change it. Could issue a thousand apologies every day for the rest of his existence, however long that would be, and it still wouldn't change a damn thing about what he had done. No regret, no guilt and absolutely no brooding. He'd be fucked ten ways to Sunday if he was going to allow this soul turn him into Angel.

~~~

       As they walked, Spike thought fondly of the money he'd stashed away from his disastrous turn as the egg man, money that had been set-aside for Buffy. He'd told her he could get money, that he couldn't stand to see her wasting away in that putrid, foul smelling grease trap. That was the only reason he'd taken that job from the Suvolte demon.  He'd even sold the DeSoto, cleaned it up first of course. Stashed everything away while he figured out a way to give it to her without her knowing whom it was from. She would have never taken it from him then and she certainly wouldn't take it now. Not after…

_I know you felt it... When I was inside you..._

He shuddered, pushing the thought from his mind and ignoring the wave of nausea that came with the memory, and instead focused his mind on the cash, nearly eleven thousand dollars; enough to keep him in smokes and bourbon for many years. Unless of course he found a way to get Buffy to accept it anyway, after all, it really was her money. She wouldn't mind if he used a little bit, just some to get a bite to eat, a haircut and a shave. Get a room in some hotel, someplace that had a shower and a bed.

       He'd been so wrapped up in the idea of finally being clean and not hungry that he was unaware that Tara had stopped. Had she been solid, Spike would have run into her, instead he passed right through her.

       "Gyahah!" he shuddered, shaken by the experience. "What gives? Bloody hell, you know I hate it when that happens."

Spike's breath caught as he saw what she was staring at. The tombstone was a new one, placed next to Joyce's. His heart skipped a beat as he dropped to his knees. Unable to bring himself to read the inscription in the smooth granite, he fumbled through his coat pocket; looking for the cigarettes he'd lifted with the jacket. He knew he was just wasting time, that there was no way he was going to be able to leave this site without looking at the grave, reading whose name was on the marker and discovering just which one of them he had failed. He drew a crumpled cigarette from an equally crumpled pack, and held it between his teeth as he fumbled with a book of matches to light it, his lighter having run out of fluid three months and several countries ago.

        He inhaled, feeling the smoke slide down his throat, burning into his lungs. Suddenly, almost violently, he gagged. He coughed loudly, his lungs wracked with spasms at the caustic intrusion.

       "Bollocks," he mumbled, gasping for breath after the attack had subsided.

       "You know that's not good for you," she said softly, not even turning to look his way. He looked up sharply, sneering. Once again he put the cigarette to his lips and inhaled sharply, quickly exhaling the smoke in her direction, watching it curl around her head. Much to his chagrin, she didn't even flinch. Grumbling, he took another drag, followed by another round of coughing.

       "I have smoked for over one hundred and twenty years," he muttered as he ground the half smoked cigarette out in the grass beside him, "and never once did I cough."

       "Never in that whole time did you have to breathe," she replied, turning to look down upon her companion, a sad smile playing on her lips. "Besides, it's not who you think it is." She motioned to the grave, and Spike took his first good look at it. He sighed a heavy sigh of relief when he read that it was not a Summers girl buried there after all. Sadness filled him nonetheless. He'd known she was dead, but reading her name on the marker cemented it.

Tara McClay

November 1980

May 2002

       "They buried you next to Joyce," he breathed. Joyce had been a good woman. Never given him grief, always welcomed him with a cup of tea or hot cocoa. She was kind. In her, Spike had seen what Buffy would have become if death and resurrection had not made her hard and the slayer gig had not made morally superior.  It was only fitting Tara be buried next to Joyce. 

       "Must have been Dawnie's idea," Tara smiled. There had been a bond between the witch and the bit. Not strange in the least, especially when compared to the bond between the bit and Spike. Not even Spike could explain it, other than to say that there was something about all three Summers women that sucked him in. "Besides the plot was paid for. No one was using it anymore."

       While true, Spike knew this wasn't the only reason she had been buried in what had been the Summers' family plot. Tara was family. That's what Buffy had said when Tara's father had shown up to carry her back to her abusive roots.

He stood slowly as Tara moved closer, stepping back, wanting to give her space. Spike knew what it was like to look at your own grave, read your own tombstone, but it was different for her. He'd gone on to live - or un-live as the case may be - a normal happy existence, as far as vampires went. Tara on the other hand would never again know the feeling of the sun on her face, or the touch of her lover's hand. All that had ended for her when the bullet ripped into her. 

       Spike had seen and inflicted many heinous deaths in his hundred plus years of existence but none compared to the shock of watching Red's clean white shirt become a Jackson Pollock painting done up in crimsons, hearing the bewilderment in his voice as he said 'your shirt' before he collapsed boneless to the floor. Shuddering as he relived the experience he had not born witness to, he wondered how she did it. How she made him feel and see everything as she sank to the floor in her lover's arms. 

She slowly turned and walked away calling over her shoulder, "You coming?"

       Spike took one last look at the grave, thankful that it hadn't turned out to be his worst nightmare. He once again searched his pockets for his cigarettes. Finding them, he tapped the pack once, raised it to his lips and pulled one of them out. He lit it, and inhaled sharply, sucking air in through his clenched teeth. He let out a slight cough, nothing like the fits he had had earlier. _Might be getting the hang of this after all, he though wistfully._

       "You really shouldn't do that," Tara told him as they walked.

       "My body. My lungs, pet."

       Tara stopped and turned to him. "If you're going to insist upon continuing to smoke, could you at least consider switching to lights?"

       Spike scoffed, then snorted; his nostrils flaring as smoke escaped them. They stood immobile, staring at each other in silence. He looked into her eyes and knew she would never back down. He groaned heavily, sucking on his teeth, "Fine, I'll switch to lights."

       "Thank you," she said as she resumed walking, confident that he would follow her. "After all, it may be your body, but it does seem as if we have to share it."

       Spike did follow, pausing only slightly to snuff out his cigarette with the toe of his boot.

       They were almost to his crypt when the scream pierced the air. He should have ignored it, and just gone into the crypt and pretended he never heard it. Let the vampire, demon, mugger - whatever it was enjoy them selves, but he couldn't. His faced screwed up into a grimace that was almost comical.

       "Oh bloody hell."

       He took off running in the direction of the scream, ending up back where he had just came from. The vampire was standing at the foot of Joyce's grave, looking very Bela Lugosi in a black suit with his unconscious victim draped in his arms. Spike would have laughed at the cliché under any other circumstances, but he was angry that he'd had to put off his shower. 

       "Hope I'm not interrupting?" he asked

"Spike," the demon hissed. "Heard you left town."

"Went on a walkabout," Spike said with a shrug, as he bounced on the balls off his feet, readying himself for the upcoming attack. As his old eagerness for a spot of violence came back, Spike's anger waned. He hadn't had a decent fight since before he left Sunnydale. Sure, he'd dusted a couple vamps on his cross-country trek, but not many vamps hop rides in boxcars of freight trains.

"Should have stayed gone," Bela snarled, dropping his victim to the ground. 

"Should'a, would'a, could'a, didn't," Spike sang, eagerly bouncing back and forth, a wicked grin played upon his lips as he slipped into game face.

 "It's good to be back," he said, as he launched an assault on the vampire.

 At the moment his left fist connected with the bridge of the vamp's nose, shattering it under the blow, Spike wondered if he had ever felt anything more truly divine than the of crushing bone under his own hand. Yes, he thought with a smile; infinitely more divine was the feeling of Buffy beneath him, being inside her...

You're going to let me inside you...I'll make you feel it 

_ The wave of guilt and self-loathing crashed into him and he faltered, staggering backwards his face slipping into its human mask. Dazed, Spike doubled over as the Bela punched him in the gut. _

"How the mighty do fall, William the Bloody, Scourge of Europe, Slayer of Slayers - or should I say - The Layer of Slayers?" Bela laughed, taunting Spike. "It's all around town you know? You're a laughing stock, Spike. And I'm gonna love being the one that dusts you. So, what are you going to do now?"

Spike closed his eyes, if he just stood there, and did nothing he could end it all. The vamp would kill him, and these feelings would end. Just as he felt the fingers closing around his throat, he caught sight of Tara standing by the unconscious girl. If he let this monster end his suffering, the girl would die too, and everything he'd done would have been in vain

Snarling, Spike retaliated, delivering a head-butt to the vampire's chin. The vampire staggered, and Spike spun; his boot finding purchase on the vamps chest.

"I'm going to go to Disneyland," Spike stated, assuming a defensive position, waiting for the counter strike. It didn't come. Spike once again began to bounce back and forth from one foot to the other but the vampire just sat splayed where the kick had landed him, staring at Spike in shock. "Oh, come on. I haven't had me a decent fight in ages, you're beginning to disappoint."

He wanted a fight, but he knew he wasn't going to get it because the look on this vampire's face told Spike his secret had been discovered. He knew the vamp could smell it. Knew the vamp had felt the pulse in his neck.

"You're not Spike," Bela gasped.

"Oh, but I am," Spike declared, catching the vampire off guard with another kick. "Just new and improved is all."

"It's not possible," Bela spat as Spike's boot met with his face. His eyes widened in horror, the demon visage slipping away, revealing his frightened human face. "It's just not possible, it can't be."

"Hard to believe, innit?"

"What the hell happened to you?"

 Spike he reached down, grabbed either side of the vampire's head, and gave a vicious twist.

"Fell in love with a girl," he said just before the vamp dusted.

****


	2. Chapter Two

TITLE: Coming Back 2/?

DISCLAIMER: Once again, I own none of this. It's Joss' sandbox. I snuck in to play while he wasn't looking. Shh.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I love Kes. She strokes my fragile ego and tells me it's all good. Many thanks must go to her for help with Anya.

~~~

          Dawn was bored out of her mind. She and Anya had been patrolling for nearly two hours and nothing had happened; this certainly wasn't what she expected for her first patrol, and to be honest, she was disappointed. All summer long she had trained diligently with her older sister, learning the ins and outs of slaying. Every night she would ask if this was the night she got to patrol. Buffy would only say soon before she was out the door leaving Dawn at home with Anya, who had moved in after Willow had gone to England. 

At first, Dawn hadn't liked the idea of Anya moving in, infiltrating the Summers' household, afraid that she would somehow ruin the new bond that was being built by the two sisters. Dawn couldn't have been more wrong. Having Anya around had been great, she was teaching Dawn the secrets of online trading so she could invest some of the money she made helping Anya pack up orders for TheMagicBox.com. When Buffy was out patrolling, they would spend their time watching movies - Anya had developed a liking for grand movie musicals ever since their own musical extravaganza. There were also down sides to living with a vengeance demon. She ate those foul cheeses that made the whole refrigerator smell, and Dawn had to be very careful not to use the W word.

"Did Buffy tell you what time they'd be home tomorrow?" Dawn asked, breaking the silence that had hung in the air since they had stopped to talk to Clem. She had been hopeful that he might have some kind of news, any news that might lead to some slayage, or an update on the whereabouts of Spike. But he had nothing to share, on either aspect - not that she had actually asked him about Spike, she couldn't do that.

"She didn't say. She just said I had to make sure you were out no later than 1 o'clock."

"Oh." 

Buffy and Xander had driven down to LA to meet Willow and Giles at the airport. They figured it was easier to go down the night before and get a couple of hotel rooms than for Xander to make a four hour round trip drive, because Buffy drive?  Three words came to Dawn's mind at that idea - no and thank you. With Buffy being away from the hellmouth for nearly 24 hours, Dawn got to patrol, not that it was worth it. Maybe something would happen to Willow and Giles' flight, nothing disastrous of course, she'd hate for something to happen to Giles. She just wanted something simple to happen; maybe they could miss a layover - anything that would keep Buffy and Xander in LA for an extra night. 

          Dawn frowned, glad that she'd kept that idea to herself when she realized the implication, and she instantly regretted the thought. It wasn't that she wanted something bad to happen to Willow, not really. It's just that she was still so angry at Willow, so hurt that Willow had tried to kill everyone who loved her.

Maybe she was still so angry because she didn't have the chance to be angry at Willow upfront. Giles had made the suggestion that Willow accompany him back to England, where she could be properly trained, insisting that it the best possible solution. Buffy had agreed with Giles, but Xander would have none of it, so after Giles had finally succumbed to Anya's pestering about getting to the emergency room to be checked over for internal injuries, Xander and Buffy fought.

          "She needs to be here, with people who love her and will help her," Xander had said, as he, Buffy and Dawn sat in the kitchen the morning after Willow's attempt at bringing about yet another apocalypse. Dawn sat on the counter with her sister on one side, and Xander on the other, watching the verbal sparing like it were a tennis match.

          "Cause we helped her so much before," Buffy had countered, and that's when Xander lost it.

          "Maybe if you weren't so busy fucking the dead, you would have been more help," he had screamed it at Buffy, right in her face.

 Before Dawn knew what had happened, she'd slapped him. Took a swing and hit him right across the mouth, and in that moment, she understood why her sister had been afraid to say anything about sleeping with Spike. As she sat there waiting for Buffy to yell at her and send her out of the room, all Dawn could do was stare at her hand; blood smeared on her fingers. She'd hit Xander; Xander who had just saved them, saved the whole world actually, Xander who she'd had a crush on for years, Xander whose gift it turned out was love not death like her sister's. When she finally looked up at him, she was relieved to see wasn't the one who had drawn blood - not really, she'd just reopened wounds that Willow had caused.

 For several moments there was stunned silence, until finally Xander had looked at Dawn, telling her that she needed to go to her room and let him and Buffy discuss this privately. And Buffy told him that Dawn wasn't going anywhere, she was part of the team, and she needed to know everything that was going on. In the end, after Xander had stormed out of the house in anger and when Giles had returned from the hospital, he and Buffy had gone to the witch's room and offered her the choice; Willow didn't hesitate in deciding to go

Now Willow was coming home, and Dawn wasn't really sure how she felt about that. On one hand, Willow was a major part of her life, having helped take care of her when Buffy had been dead and Dawn kind of missed that. On the other hand, Willow had nearly killed her in that car accident when she'd been strung out, and she had tried to erase the spell the monks had used and turn her back into a mystic ball of energy when Dawn had only been trying to help her after Tara's death. She didn't want to be bitter, but she couldn't help it.

"This bites," Dawn sighed, absently mindedly twirling a stake between her fingers as they walked down Revello drive towards their house.

          "Technically, it doesn't," Anya corrected. "If something was biting, we'd at least have something to stake."

          "I just mean that this has been a truly disappointing patrol," Dawn sighed. "It's my first one and all, I was just kind of hoping it would be more exciting. If it was still summer, I might understand it being slow, Buffy says summers are the off-season on the Hellmouth, which I so totally don't get. It's not like vampires go on summer vacations."

          "But they do," Anya told her. "They go wherever the people go. I noticed it a lot back when I was a vengeance demon. The first time around. I'd see them all the time whenever I'd get called to the hot vacation spots - you know, Club Med, Belize, Graceland, wherever - all because some woman had found her boyfriend sleeping with some trampy cocktail waitress. I'd always end up in some dark nightclub, listening to horrible dance music, watching people dance so close they looked like they were having sex - in fact, they may have been. I'd listen to some poor woman pour her heart out, crying into her highly over priced, watered down cocktail, making some stupid vengeance wish; like hoping he'd get herpes or some other disease. No imagination I tell you, not like the old days when the wishes had been for leprosy or…"

          "No offense," Dawn interrupted, "but - Eew."

          "None taken. Not everyone is cut out for a career in vengeance," Anya said with a cheerful smile as she patted Dawn on the head. It was an awkward gesture that left Dawn feeling more like a puppy than a sixteen-year-old girl.

           "What I don't understand," Anya continued, "is why more vamps aren't out looking for Buffy, trying to get a piece of her. You know, now that everyone knows about her and Spike."

          Dawn rolled her eyes.  Anya had blabbed to Halfrek about Buffy and Spike one night, and Halfrek had turned around and told a friend, who had told another friend and so on. Dawn would be surprised if Buffy's name hadn't ended up on the bathroom wall at Willy's next to the words 'for a good time call'.

          "Do you know how lucky you are that Buffy didn't kill you for that?" Dawn asked with a grin plastered to her face

          "I don't see what the big deal is," Anya shrugged. "If she would have just talked to me instead of being all repressed and walking out of the room any time I mentioned Spike and sex, I wouldn't have had to go to Halfrek. So, it really is all her fault. I thought once we got over the awkwardness of what had happened, we'd be able to bond over the fact that we both shared sexual relations with him. You know, share stories about the orgasms, compare notes on performance technique. I was eager to ask her if at any time when they'd been having sex he'd ever done that thing where he…"

          Dawn cut her off, "Okay, scarred for life now."

          "With that attitude, you're going to end up as repressed as your sister, Missy."

          "Not repressed," Dawn stated, "just not wanting the image of Spike and my sister having sex, It's bad enough I had to see you two on the internet."

          "I wish someone had thought to get that on tape," Anya sighed. 

Dawn groaned and shook her head; she loved how Anya never seemed to worry about what other people thought of her. How she spoke so freely, always saying exactly what was on her mind, even if it was about Spike and sex, which Dawn so didn't want to be thinking about.

Having Anya around was almost as fun as having Spike around, almost, but not really. Anya didn't like it when Dawn would turn the sound off when watching movies and make up her own, often very offensive dialogue like Spike used to do. She also didn't let Dawn paint her toenails with experimental colors, preferring instead to pay someone to paint them red every other week.

Dawn missed Spike, but she didn't let anyone know. She should hate him. He'd left her, after saying he was there to stay, and promising to protect her till the end of the world. Where was he when Willow had tried to kill her? And what about what he had done Buffy? She should hate him for that, shouldn't she? 

"You miss him, don't you?" 

          "Huh?" 

          "You're thinking about Spike. I can tell." The older woman said. 

          "What, you can read minds now?" Dawn laughed.

          "No, it's just, your eyebrows do this funny thing when ever you're deep in thought…"

          "They so do not!" Dawn protested.

          "Yes they do," Anya said firmly. "And whenever you think about Spike, you get this sad lost look. And when I brought up his sexual performance you got all skittish… you're in love with him!" 

          "I so am not!" 

          "It's okay if you have a crush on him. After all he is very sexy, with those cheekbones and eyes and that tongue and the way he…"

          "Eew! Anya, he was my babysitter."

          "Oh, it's perfectly normal for teenagers to develop crushes on authority figures." Anya assured her. "It happens all the time, I used to get many calls from young girls who had fallen in love with their teachers; after all, puberty is such a confusing time. You have all those hormones coursing through your system, you get breasts and hair grows in funny places. You start to notice that thinking about a boy makes you all tingly and squidgy feeling. It would be highly out of the ordinary for you not to start thinking of Spike in a sexual manner."

          "Oh god," Dawn moaned. 

          "And you know, the age difference isn't that bad. You're about the age Buffy was when she met Angel, and Spike is something like a hundred years younger than Angel, and much, much more handsome. Not to mention he would be a much better choice for you than some high school boy, seeing as he has so much more experience. It's so important that the first person you sleep with have experience, that way you'll enjoy it."

          As her cheeks began to heat up with embarrassment Dawn found herself wishing that an interdimensional portal would open up under her feet and rescue her from the formerly former vengeance demon's insistence that Spike was the ideal candidate for Dawn's deflowering. 

          "After all," Anya continued, seemingly oblivious to Dawn's discomfort. "Losing her virginity is a very important step in a young girls life. Did you know in some cultures there are festivals and rituals to go along with the event? Suitors are hand picked by the girls families and the events are often witnessed by the entire village."

          Dawn blanched as she imagined the Scoobies handing her over to Spike, and then calmly sitting to watch as Spike ceremoniously laid her out on the tomb in his crypt. She scrubbed her temples trying to rid her self of the unwelcome visions creeping into her mind; Spike kissing her, his tongue trailing up her neck, his hands pushing their way into her jeans... 

          "Eew! God Anya, shut up. Yes, I miss him. But I'm not in love with him," Dawn admitted, after a minute of silence she added, "Is that a bad thing?"

          "That you're not in love with him?"

          "No, that I miss him."

          "No."

          "I feel like I should hate him," Dawn said, "after what he did to Buffy. I feel like I'm betraying my sister or something when I miss him."

          "She doesn't hate him, neither should you."

          "How do you know? She doesn't talk about him, and it's not like she has just come out and said as much."

          "No, I just can't sense a need for vengeance coming off her and she's never made any kind of wish. Never asked me to make his penis fall off, or even cover it with boils." Anya sighed wistfully, and Dawn suddenly wished she had never asked. 

          "Weeping boils all over the penis is a classic. That's how I got my start in vengeance, you know. And I am proud to say I was quite good at it. I managed to raise it to an art form; no other vengeance demon could do boils on penises quite like me. I mean, it's one thing to just slap down a bunch of oozing pustules; it's an utterly different thing to carefully position each boil and… never mind. The point I am trying to get across is, that if Buffy wanted some form of vengeance against Spike, I would know."

          Anya's news should have been a revelation, should have eased all the guilt Dawn was carrying around about not hating Spike on principle, for Buffy. Instead it fanned fires of resentment towards her sister; suddenly it became Buffy's fault that Spike had abandoned her; and she really didn't want to hate her sister, not after the summer they'd had. They had bonded, really bonded. And sometimes, like the night that Buffy had let her guard down and allowed a few details of her relationship with Spike slip, Dawn felt almost like she was Buffy's girlfriend and not her younger sister.

          "Your eyebrows are doing it again," Anya pointed out.

          Dawn gulped, grinned sheepishly and blurted out the first thing she could think of that wouldn't betray her true feelings, "I just wish he would come back." 

          Instantly her hand flew to cover her mouth. "OhmygodIdidn'tmeanit."

          "It's okay," Anya said sweetly, attempting to comfort Dawn. "I can't do anything about that one. No vengeance there."

          "Thanks," she said to Anya with a sheepish smile. "Thank you for being honest with me, even if it does mean that you have managed to scar me for life, causing emotional trauma that will put me into therapy for many, many years to come, which Buffy will make you pay for, by the way. But thanks for being you, demon and all" 

          The look on Anya's face was priceless, like no one had ever appreciated her frankness before - and they hadn't, not really, Dawn thought. Xander had always seemed to be ashamed of her, always embarrassed by something Anya had said or done. Suddenly Dawn felt something she had never even considered before, genuine respect for the demon. She hugged Anya closely.

          As they parted, Dawn thought she saw Anya wiping tears from her eyes.

          "We should get you home," Anya said with a smile. "I can guarantee that Buffy will be calling at 1:05." Noticing the frown forming on Dawn's face, she quickly added, reassuringly, "To check up on me, make sure that I have you home on time."

          Arm in arm, they continued on their way home. Just as they were approaching the house, Dawn became aware of a figure, a decidedly masculine figure with a large bundle in his arms, on the other side of the street heading in their direction. 

          "Anya, does that look like a person he's carrying?" Dawn asked in a whisper, giving the stake in her hand another whirl. Maybe her first patrol wasn't going to be a bust after all. As he got closer, Dawn could see that the bundle was actually a girl, a girl who was wearing a dress much like the one she had loaned... "Oh shit, Janice." 

          Anya grabbed her before she could take off running across the street.

          "What are you doing?" Dawn asked her voice filled with frustration.

          "I don't think that's a vampire, Dawn. Look at the way he's holding her."

          Anya was right. Whoever it was carrying Janice wasn't doing it like she was dinner, but had her cradled in his arms as though she was some kind of precious cargo. But Dawn could tell something was wrong with Janice by the way her head was slumped against the stranger's chest and her arm hung limply.

          "Okay, now you can go over there," Anya told her. "Now. Go. Shoo."

          "Hey," Dawn called out as she crossed the street, with Anya following her. She had expected the man to stop, but he kept on walking towards Janice's house four blocks away. She was just inches from him so she reached out and grabbed his shoulder.  "Hey! Listen, that's my friend, and… oh."

          He turned around slowly and Dawn's eyes widened in shock as their eyes met, she heard a shocked gasp escape Anya's lips.

          "'Lo Bit."

"Just so we are clear," Anya stated. "I didn't do this."


	3. Chapter three

**Coming Back** 3/?

**DISCLAIMER**: I've said it before, and I'll say it again. None of this is mine. Well, Spike's blue navy P-Coat's mine, but everything else belongs to Joss.

**A/N**: Once again I must bow down to Keswindhover. She is a beta goddess. Lots of love to the gang at Band of Buggered, they are too good to me. 

_Miss Murchison, this update's for you_.

~~~~

_She had followed the light. _

_That's what you were supposed to do when you died, wasn't it? Follow the light. Go to heaven. Be at peace until your next incarnation was set to begin? Buffy had pretty much given Tara all the proof she needed to believe that some kind of heavenly dimension existed. _

_She almost chuckled at how clichéd it had all seemed; the light, the tunnel. It had been like she was floating. No, not floating, it had been more like the people mover at LAX. She'd only closed her eyes for a moment, just a second when the light had dimmed and then flashed like a sun going supernova. When she had opened them again the light was gone and she was shrouded in darkness; gone was the peaceful serenity she had felt just seconds before. In its place was pain; intense anguished pain and strangling despair. And she had known right then that she wasn't in heaven. _

_She'd heard him before she had seen him. Sitting in the sand for what felt like an eternity, her knees drawn tightly to her chest, she'd listened to his deep ragged breathing; had heard the choking sobs that escaped his throat as he woke up_

_Tara wondered how she had known what to say, what to do to calm him. Wondered how she had known the lyrics to the lullaby his mother used to sing when he'd curl himself into a tight ball during thunderstorms; a song so old, she figured not even her grandmother had ever heard it. As the softly sung words spilled forth, she'd crawled to him, eager to sooth him, offer some comfort. _

_"Sweet, sweet William," she had sighed as his mother always had, lifting her hand to brush a stray lock of hair off his bruised and battered forehead. But her hand simply passed through him._

_He'd sat up slowly, and Tara heard the sound of steel striking flint just before the eerie glow of his lighter filled the cavern. Blue eyes met blue eyes for the first time confirming what she had somehow already known. _

_Upon seeing his face, she wondered how she had ever been afraid of him. He looked so impossibly young and innocent. He'd held the lighter up like a torch lighting his way as he leaned into her, intent on touching her, proving or disproving her existence. When his hand passed right through her as hers had him, he jerked back, dropping the impromptu torch, once again shrouding them in darkness. _

_"What are you?" Spike asked her softly, his voice raw from crying. Tara had no answer for him. "Why are you here?"_

_How long had they stayed in that cavern? Days? Weeks? Tara had no idea; without the sun to separate the days from the nights she had no concept of time. What she had known was that he needed to feed, his heart may have been beating, but he was still very much a vampire, still very much in need of blood. He hadn't even been aware of the heartbeat, he was so out of touch with reality; he had thought it was a phantom of his past kills, taunting him, turning him into some undead version of the Tell Tale Heart._

_       When the hunger had become too much for him to handle, Spike finally climbed to his feet and leaning against the cold stone walls for support he stumbled out into the dark African night. When the villagers began to flock to him, amazed that he had survived the trials, it became obvious to Tara that no one but Spike could see her, no one but Spike could hear her. She trailed the mob as they ushered him into the hut of the village shaman. She listened as the frail looking crone had barked orders that the vampire warrior be cleaned and that livestock be slaughtered so that he might be fed._

_       On the third day he'd turned to her, "It was quick?"_

_       "Yeah." she hung her head. _

_       "Good," he finally said after a long silence, exhaling slowly. "Means you didn't suffer. Who did it?"_

_       "Don't know," she said softly._

_       "They'll get what's theirs."_

~~~

       The world had gone crazy. It was the only explanation; no one in a sane world would have ever turned Scooby Doo into a full-length feature film.

       _Thank God Giles is sleeping through this_, Willow thought as she turned her eyes from the in flight movie to the sleeping Watcher at her side. As Giles snored lightly beside her, she wished -again- that she had accepted the ladies' offer of a sleeping potion for the trip home, but she had honestly thought she could get through the flight without it. She'd been wrong. Now she was stuck with her mind going a mile a minute watching a Freddie Prinze jr. film with no sound because she just couldn't bring herself to listen as well as watch, and it didn't look like there would be beverage service anytime soon.

       With a look at Giles' watch – which had already been set to LA time, good old reliable Giles – Willow quickly calculated how long until they landed. The pilot had announced that it they should be landing on schedule just before the movie had began somewhere over Cleveland. She'd never tell Giles this, but secretly she had wished there would be a problem when they had stopped for their lay over in New York. She wasn't quite ready to go back, didn't know how to face her friends after what she had done, but both Giles and the ladies of the coven had thought it would be best that she finished her studies at home, with her friends to help her. Would her friends want to help her though? She'd nearly killed them in an attempt at ending her own pain.

Funny that, how every time she tried to use magic to end her pain she ended up putting her friends in danger. Some friend she was. 

Giles and the ladies had been wonderful, although skittish around her, but could she really blame them? She was the most powerful human on earth, and boy, wasn't a scary thought? 

Giles stirred beside her, "How are you holding up?" 

       "Thinking I might need a drink," Willow confessed and after a moment of hesitation, adding. "I'm a little nervous, Giles."

       "That's to be expected."

       "I can't begin to imagine what they all think of me," she swallowed. "Okay, that's a lie. I _can_ imagine what they think of me, and that's the problem."

       "Willow." His voice came softly, and although she knew it was meant to calm her, it only stood to make her more hysterical.

       "Giles, how can you be so calm around me? I murdered people," she whispered, aware that there were other people around, but needing to talk about this none the less. "I tried to end the world, which would have killed the friends who are supposed to help me. You know, that's got to make them cranky."

"Willow, I understand…"

       "No… You don't understand, you can't understand," Willow cried out softly. "Giles I tortured and killed a man, and it felt good."

       "And I understand that," he replied soothingly, taking her hand in his. "One of the reasons the coven and I feel that it is important for you to continue your lessons in Sunnydale is because you will have the support of friends who have been in your shoes and understand." Seeing that Willow was once again about to protest. "You'll see Willow, everything will work out for the best," Giles said before drifting back to sleep.

       _Easy for you to say_, She thought before flagging down a flight attendant and asking for a vodka martini. Why couldn't there be a twelve-step program for this kind of thing? A kind of Apocalyptaholics Anonymous? Nah, cause then she'd have to find a sponsor and while her friends knew plenty about apocalypses, none of them had ever tried to bring one about themselves – not even Spike.

       _Maybe my friends will forgive me_, Willow thought as the flight attendant returned with her drink. _But would Tara forgive me?_

~~~

       If he crossed his eyes, and looked at his nose, he could see that it was starting to swell; the bridge was throbbing, and he knew it was broken, but the bleeding had stopped and it would be healed in a day or two so he wasn't all that concerned.

 _Damn Bit has a pretty mean right hook_, he thought, pride swelling as he watched Dawn helping her friend up to her front door.

Spike pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and fumbled with his book of matches to light it as he watched Janice fumble through her purse, looking for something, producing a set of key triumphantly before opening the door. Dawn turned and motioned that she was going to follow Janice in and would be out in a second, and then she disappeared, leaving Anya and Spike patiently waiting on the sidewalk. Neither one of them spoke. He let out a slight cough, and then he realized he had no idea what to say to her.

Next to him Anya sniffed pointedly.

"Not catching cold, I hope," he said softly.

"Oh," she exclaimed, as she took another sniff, wrinkling her nose. "No. No colds here."

He eyed her curiously.

"You need a shower," she offered. 

Just then, Dawn came bounding out of Janice's house and joined them at the sidewalk.

"She said she has no idea how she ended up in the cemetery where you found her. She was out on a date with Mike Bradford at the Bronze, and the last thing she remembers was him coming back from the bar with a couple drinks."

"Probably drugged," Anya offered. 

"Yeah, Mike's got quite a reputation for getting whatever he wants, anyway he can."

"We better get you home," Anya said. "Buffy will run me through with a sword when she gets back from LA if we're not home when she calls." 

Dawn scoffed, "Not like it would kill you."

"But it would hurt," Anya reminded her. 

       Spike looked inquisitively at the closeness between Dawn and Anya and shot a look at Tara, who simply shrugged. 

"Come on back to the house?" Dawn asked him. "I'll get you some ice for your nose."

It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse the invitation, but instead he found himself nodding in agreement as he followed them down the street to the Summers' house.

As they mounted the steps to 1630 Revello drive, Spike felt his pulse quicken; he certainly hadn't expected to be coming back here so soon after returning from Africa. When he noticed he was passing the house on his way to Janice's, he was thankful that the lights were out, and that he couldn't sense anyone at home, he just wasn't ready to see either of his girls. But here he was, standing on the porch, waiting patiently behind Dawn as she fumbled with the key in the lock, finally throwing the door open and stepping over the threshold. He made no move to follow her, simply stood and watched her as she flipped the light switch in the entryway and started up the stairs. 

       "What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?" Anya asked as she came up behind. "Nobody disinvited you."

       He'd fully expected Buffy would have had Willow cast the disinvite spell, was in fact surprised that she hadn't. He stood at the door, eyeing the door jam suspiciously. It wasn't right that she hadn't revoked his invitation into the house.

Behind him he heard Tara's soft voice, "Spike?"

       "I can't," he said softly, so softly he was sure Anya couldn't have heard him. He cleared his throat and lifted the cigarette in his hand. "I'll stay out here."

       "Suit yourself," Anya shrugged, sniffing again before she went into the house, leaving the front door open a crack behind her.

       Spike sat on the front step and took a drag.

       "What's that about?" he asked as Tara sat down beside him.

       Tara responded with a shrug, "I've never understood why Anya does what she does. Just kind of accepted it."

       Behind him he heard Dawn call for him as she bounded down the stairs.

       "Where is he?" He heard fear in her voice.

       "Front porch. Smoking. I thought you missed him?" he heard Anya ask accusingly.

       "I did," Dawn mumbled.

       "Well color me confused, Dawn," Anya sighed, "Because you reek of vengeance."  

       "It's just.." Dawn started. "It's just, I DID miss him this summer, and I wished he was back…"

       "I told you that wasn't me," Anya protested.

       "I know. It's just a coincidence or something, but he… suddenly he's here and he's all 'Lo, Bit', 'Missed you, Bit' and all of a sudden I just got so mad…"

       Silence fell and he heard them walking into the kitchen. With his vampiric sense of hearing, he heard the freezer door open, followed by the sound of an ice tray being cracked and ice cubes being dropped onto the counter.

       "Well, I think you may have broken his nose, if that helps at all," Anya said as the phone rang. "That'd be Buffy."

       The phone rang two more times, and he heard Anya answering it as the door opened slowly. He turned and looked over his shoulder at the teenager standing behind him. She'd grown over the summer, stood nearly as tall as him now, and from his viewpoint she towered over him.

       "I brought you an ice pack," she said softly, holding it out. 

       "It'll heal," he mumbled as he took the pack from her. "But thanks." He snuffed his cigarette and dropped the butt.

       "Thanks for saving Janice."

"I really did miss you."

       "Yeah, I could tell by all the post cards you sent me."

       Spike winced, "I deserve that."

       "You left me." Dawn murmured.

       "Nibblet..."

       "Don't call me that," she hissed. "You don't get to call me that; you don't get to waltz back into town, saving my friends, acting as if nothing has changed. You hurt Buffy, and you broke your promise. You promised to protect me, Buffy told me."

_I'm counting on you, Spike. To help protect her._

_'Til the end of the world_

       He'd made the promise to Buffy, because he loved her, and he'd known that losing the Bit would tear her to pieces, and he couldn't abide by that. He'd sat watch over Dawn after Buffy's death to quench the guilt he felt for not protecting either of them enough. Buffy's death was his fault, he'd vowed to protect the little sister and he'd failed. The problem was sometime during the course of that endless summer, he'd grown to love Dawn as he had loved his own sister so many lifetimes before. They'd been thick as thieves while Buffy was gone, yet he'd neglected Dawn during his six month romp with Buffy, he'd caused her pain by proving that Buffy couldn't trust him; he'd broken the promise Dawn had obviously held onto as if he's made it to her directly, and that caused him nearly as much pain deep in his soul as what he'd done to Buffy.

       "'Til the end of the world," he said softly.

       "Well the world nearly ended while you were gone, Spike. I nearly died." her voice broke and Spike heard her sob. "I nearly died and Buffy nearly died, and Tara did die, and you weren't here to protect any of us and I should hate you." She sank to her knees. "But I don't."

 Spike turned and watched her as she sat on her knees, bathed in light emanating from the house, sobbing. They sat in the silence of Dawn's sobs until Anya came to the door, still talking on the phone.

       "She's fine," Anya said with a scowl directed towards Spike. "In the shower. I'll have her call when she gets out… right, at the Hyperion. We have the number on the refrigerator right where you left it." She hung up the phone. "Buffy says to call her when you get out of the shower." She told Dawn. "I lied. Because you're not in the shower."

       "I'm okay," Dawn mumbled as she wiped tears from her eyes. She turned and looked at Anya for a moment. "Really. I'm okay. Give me a few, will you?"

       "Okay, but I'll be right here. Inside. On the couch. Waiting."

       "Thank you Anya, but I don't think I'll be needing you right now." Dawn told her with a sweet sad smile.

       Anya nodded and turned to go, stopping and looking directly at Spike, but speaking to Dawn, "Remember, I'm just inside."

       Dawn sighed, and crawled to Spike, taking a seat at his side on the steps, "I'm sorry."

       "No Pla…Dawn, I'm the one who should be apologizing." He reached up and ran his hand over her hair, grasping her shoulder and pulling her in to him, embracing her. "I'm terribly sorry."

       "Its just…Wow, you're here. I mean. Anya and I were just talking about you, and then I wished for you to come back, and you're here. And I know it's not your fault that Buffy and Tara got shot."

       "Buffy got shot?"

       He felt Dawn nod against his shoulder. 

       "She's okay though," she said as she pulled back. "Willow saved her."

       "Good on her."

       Dawn stood up, rubbing at her eyes. "I need to go call Buffy."

       "Yeah."

       "You… you won't leave without saying goodbye, will you?"

       "I'll stay here. If that's what you want, Dawn."

       Dawn nodded as she entered the house, pausing as she whispered. "If you want to call me Nibblet, I won't mind."

       Something in Spike's chest expanded, and he was warmed from the inside out. He felt tears prickling behind his closed eyelids, fighting to get out.

       "She loves you," he heard Tara tell him.

       "I don't deserve it."

       "Everyone deserves to be loved, Spike." she said softly.

        Spike opened his eyes as Anya took a seat on the steps next to him, holding a bottle of beer out to him, drinking deeply off her own.

"Thanks." He muttered, accepting her offering.

       "Give me a cigarette," she said.

       Spike choked on the beer that he was swallowing. "You don't smoke," he sputtered.

       "It's not like it'll kill me so just give me a damn cigarette." She sat impatiently waiting, with her hand extended as he pulled out the crumpled, near empty pack. She grabbed at the pack he extended to her, and sighed as he fumbled with the matches. Finally lit, she inhaled deeply. 

"It's very unsatisfying when a call for vengeance goes unanswered. Very much like sex without the orgasm," she said as she exhaled. Spike eyed her curiously. "You have no idea how close you were to evisceration back there a minute ago, mister. Two words, that's all I would have needed. And I would have done it in a New York minute, before she'd even finished her request. Shiny new soul be damned." She took another drag off her cigarette and then handed it to Spike.

"I can smell it, you know."

Spike sat silently. That's what the sniffing had been about.

"Back in the biz, eh?"

"Yup," she said taking another drink. "How'd you do it?"

"Won it."

Anya nodded. "How's it feel?"

"Hurts like a bitch."

Neither said anything more, just sat silently drinking their beer. Spike finished the cigarette Anya had started and snuffed it out on the bottom of his boot. He thought about how he needed a new pair as he looked at the duct tape wearing through on the sole. He needed a lot of things; a shower, a shave, a haircut, Buffy's forgiveness. The first three would be easy. He didn't know if he'd ever get the last one, but he'd die trying.

"Listen, there's something I've been putting off that I really need to take care of," Anya said after finishing her beer. "Would you mind staying with Dawn  for a bit? I'll be back before sunrise."

"I spose."

"Thanks." Anya stood, handing him her empty bottle. "It's good you're back. They missed you." And with a wave of her hand, she was gone.

Spike stood slowly and walked towards the door.

"They didn't disinvite you," Tara said. "That's got to say something."

Spike nodded, and swallowed hard as he took a step over the threshold, turning back to Tara he jerked his head toward the house, "Come on Tinkerbell, lets go see if we can find out what happened in this town this summer, see if we can find your witch."


	4. Chapter Four

TITLE: Coming Back 4/?

DISCLAIMER: It all belongs to Joss.

A/N: Thanks and much loving go out to all the lovelies at Band of Buggered. They're helpful beyond belief. Copious amounts of loving to Kes and her beta skills.

~~~

Colored lights strobed in time with the electronic drumbeats, as a sea of half-naked bodies, slick with sweat followed the rhythm. The air reeked of sex and money, two of her favorite things – however Anya couldn't have been more bored. She sat slumped, her chin propped up on her elbow resting atop the tiny table in a corner of the densely packed after hours club, barely paying attention to the weepy blonde across from her. Sweat was pooling in her bra, and she cursed herself for not changing into something more appropriate for the climate before she had teleported herself into the middle the Nevada desert.

"He said he loved me," the blonde cried, blowing her nose into a cocktail napkin.

"They always do," Anya replied half-heartedly, lazily tracing the wet ring of condensation left by the untouched, over priced cocktail in front of her.

Vengeance was her life; it's what she had been made for, so why wasn't she more excited to be here? There had been a time when 'I wish' had been her two favorite words; she'd get a buzz whenever she heard a scorned woman utter them. Now she simply got a sick sour feeling anytime someone said them. She remembered the days when vengeance had been her calling. Before Xander, before Buffy, and before Dawn. What a thrill she'd gotten sitting and roasting marshmallows with Halfrek as Chicago burned after she'd turned Mrs. O'Leary's philandering husband into a cow. Or the tingle she used to get whenever someone mentioned the Black Plague. Those had been good times.

Beside her the blonde gulped, hot tears continuing to pour down her cheeks, "He said I was the only one for him."

"Of course he did," Anya mumbled, stabbing at the air with the little plastic sword that had come in her cocktail garnish.

The world of vengeance simply wasn't what it once was. She had assured Halfrek that her low number of wishes granted and her lack of creativity were temporary – that she was simply having a difficult time readjusting after three years of living as a human. But that excuse wouldn't hold out for much longer. She used to be D'Hoffryn's most successful girl – somewhere she had a dozen "Most Wishes Granted" plaques packed away. She'd been Vengeance Demon of the century three eras running. Once upon a time she'd been admired, revered. Now she was the topic of vengeance fold gossip. '_Anyanka's gone soft_,' they said. '_She's lost her edge_.' 

Soft her heinie. She'd show them.

"What is it about men?" the blonde sobbed, tears choking her voice.

"Men. They woo you, they win your heart, they dash it into tiny pieces all over the linoleum of your kitchen floor." Anya said, drawing herself up. Looking the weepy blonde in the eye she stamped down the uneasy feeling that was growing in her stomach. She needed this wish. After all, she had a job to do and there were quotas to make. "I bet you wish his lips would fall off."

The blonde looked horrified, her features twisted with revulsion. "Oh God no." She said, shaking her head. 

"I know! How about self cannibalization?" She suggested, a wistful smile curling the corners of her mouth. "It's an old one, I know. And it lacks points for originality… But it was one of my favorites."

"I couldn't stand it if anything bad happened to him," the blonde hiccuped, her tears beginning to dry up. 

In dazed exasperation, Anya gaped, wondering what had happened. The blonde woman's need for retribution was slowly waning. Desperately she sought for something that could seal this deal. She was determined to make this one work; needed this act of vengeance to prove she still had it. 

"But you said he broke your heart! That he promised you'd spend your lives together, surely you want him to pay for the pain he's caused, for the humiliation."

"Pay?" The woman asked, her voice giving away her confusion.

Anya released a labored sigh and leaned across the table. "Wouldn't you feel better if he'd never been born, or if his intestines turned to mush?"

The blonde's already horror stricken face twisted into an even bigger parody of terror. "No!" She wailed. "I mean, if he'd never been born, I'd never have gotten to know him, and we did have some good times together."

"What about your broken heart?" Anya pleaded. 

The woman across the table from her shrugged. "It'll heal."

Anya couldn't believe what she was hearing. What was it with women these days? Just hours before this woman's cry for vengeance could be heard clear back in Sunnydale. Anya had found her at a slot machine, mascara streaking her face, crying her eyes out despite the fact that she had just hit a big jackpot. 

"You know, I'm really glad I ran into you," the blonde said gathering her belongings. "I feel much better."

"I don't" Anya grumbled as she watched the woman walk away. She'd never even gotten the woman's name, hadn't thought she would be around long enough to need to use it. The agony and need for payback had been so strong, Anya had been certain it wouldn't take her but a few hours to seal the deal. And she had been glad for it too; glad that she wouldn't have time to back down from granting the wish when it finally came.

She groaned in frustration, banging her head on the table. Twice in one night a call for vengeance had gone unfulfilled. She wanted someone around her to make a wish, ANY wish just so she could get some satisfaction.

Over the music the bartender announced last call.

Anya sat up slowly. Last call. That meant, "Shit!" 8:30 am, way past sunrise.

~~~

__

It makes her shiver. The light feathery way he touches her; fingers and palms barely coming into contact with her flesh, as if he's afraid that she'll break if he grasps her, or that he might somehow taint her. She's clean to him, she knows this, knows he sees her as his salvation, his reason for being.

"For you, pet." he moans as his lips graze the skin of her neck, sending bolts of cold lightning down into her very soul. "All for you."

Always for her, everything – every stupid thing he does, he does for her.

She's on fire wherever he touches her despite the chill in the air, and suddenly she's overdressed, but taking off her clothes would mean stopping, and she can't stop. She can't bring herself to push him away enough to strip off the offending layers between them, as her hands scurry over his body, pulling at him, tugging him closer.

"You're so far away," she laments, feeling as though she's going to topple off the cold granite slab she's sitting on, but holding on for balance would mean letting go of him. And she can't - must not let go because if she does, he may disappear again. She wraps her legs around him, as if to assure herself he's not going anywhere again – that he can't get away.

"Closer than you think," he murmurs into her mouth as he kisses her, feeds on her tongue, his hands in her hair. "Closer than you can imagine." 

He pushes into her and she welcomes him in, wondering when they'd stopped to remove their clothes, but it doesn't matter, nothing matters as long as he's here, as long as she can feel his hot flesh pressed against her, inside her.

She needs him, has so much to tell him, but she can't find her voice; wouldn't matter even if she could, because his mouth won't let go of hers long enough for her to speak. But it's okay; because she knows her body is telling him more than her words ever could. Knows his fingers can read her goose bumps like Braille.

She also knows they're being watched. She can see Tara over his pale shoulder- blazing with the fire of a thousand suns; standing there, the blood still staining her shirt, unaffected by the two bodies writhing atop her grave.

"Be careful with him Buffy," Tara tells her, even though her mouth doesn't seem to move. "Be careful, because it just may kill him when he discovers what was sacrificed so he could bring you this gift."

Buffy wants to say she understands, wants to tell her not to worry, but all she can think about as he's filling her is that she's so dangerously close to falling…

"Almost there," he whimpers. He's coming, and so is she. "Buffy, we're almost there."

Buffy woke with a jolt, hitting her head against the window.

"Huh?"

"I said, we're almost there," Xander called over his shoulder as he steered the car off the highway, onto the off ramp.

She wiped at her mouth, hoping she hadn't been drooling, "Mmm… must have fallen asleep."

"The minute we left LA." Xander said grinning at her in the rear view mirror as she stretched the best she could in the back seat of his car. "Good dream?"

She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. "What makes you ask that?" _Oh god, please, don't tell me I was moaning_.

"You were smiling," he said glancing back at her in the mirror. "Made me think you were having a happy dream."

"I don't remember it." She lied. She couldn't tell him, he'd never understand. She quickly changed the subject.

"When did they doze off?" Buffy asked, regarding the sleeping watcher in the front seat and the witch in the back seat with her.

"About ten minutes after you did."

"Sorry," Buffy said sheepishly. She'd done this to him on the drive down to LA as well. "Road trips equal nappy Buffy."

"No problem, just remind me of that the next time the plans include one, and I'll remember to take Dawn instead."

"Check," she said as she sat back, watching the familiar scenery pass them by, saddened when she saw that the sign welcoming them to Sunnydale was still standing. It wouldn't be if he'd come back. Round about the third time she had read in the paper that vandals had once again knocked down the sign, she'd put two and two together, and realized that it happened every time he came into town. It was as if knocking down that sign was his calling card, his way of announcing himself to the citizens of Sunnydale. _How very Victorian of him_, she had thought. 

_It's been three months,_ that nagging voice in the back of her head reminded her. _He's not coming back_.

__

He always does, she told the voice. _He's like that cat in that song_.

"Whatcha thinking?" Xander asked as they turned onto Revello drive.

"About what to do for dinner," she lied again. "Chinese?"

"Sounds good. I'm always open to a visit from General Tso."

"Chinese it is," she agreed as they pulled up in front of her house. "Should I wake them and say goodbye?"

Xander turned in his seat after killing the engine to look at the sleeping figure of his best friend, clutching the yellow crayon he'd given her at the airport. Buffy didn't completely understand the reference, but it seemed to bring Willow comfort, and that was enough for her not to question.

"Nah, the jet lag has to be killing them," he said, "and I guess they were up most of the night talking with Angel. I don't think they'd mind that you let them sleep through your departure into Casa de Summers."

"I guess you're right," she said as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "Besides, I'm going to be seeing them again in a few hours."

"Very true. Thought I'd take them back to my place, let them get settled. Then we'd head over say round fiveish?"

"It's a plan, Xan." She chirped as she reached down to fetch her purse off the floor by her feet. "Thanks for putting them up until Giles' apartment is ready. Can you believe he kept that place?"

"Guess he knew on some level he'd be coming back."

__

Everyone comes back to Sunnydale, she thought. 

"Um. Look, I wasn't going to say anything," Xander said uneasily, chewing his lip. "But if you want to talk about it, I'm here. I know it's got to be eating at you."

"Huh?" 

"You know, Angel…"

She stared at him blankly, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Angel…Who has a son? A son who's 18 even though he was only born last year?"

"Oh, that." 

__

Yeah THAT, the little voice told her, _because he could care less about what's really eating at you. _

"I'm pretty okay with that," Buffy told him, ignoring the voice that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her mind. 

"Pretty okay with that?" Xander scoffed, disbelieving. "A vampire has a baby, and you're 'pretty okay' with that?"

"Okay, I was shocked when he told me, but it was a prophecy, and it's not like you can argue with prophecies. Well, I guess you could, but it would be one sided, and you'd probably still lose anyway. So what's the point?"

Xander grinned and chuckled. "I have to admit you're handling it much better than I would have. Also, let me just take this moment to express my joy that it was a prophecy about two vampires, and not a vampire and a slayer, because I'm thinking… Buffy having Spike's baby would be oh such a very bad thing."

"God Xander…" Buffy's temper flared and she felt her hand clench into a fist at her side.

"Buffy, I'm just saying that if it had been a prophecy about you, he'd probably have stuck around. And I'm on the team that thinks it's a good thing he's gone."

"We are not having this conversation." She said opening the car door, preparing to flee. 

__

Of course you're not, the voice replied, _because then you might have to admit that you miss him._

Shut. Up. She told the voice. 

"Buffy, he tried…"

_And so did you_, she wanted to say to him, wanted to remind him how he'd backed her into a vending machine in the school lounge. Tell him how his eyes had been filled with a predatory glint. Reminding him would do no good, and she knew it. He'd protest, tell her he had been possessed, that it was different. And she knew it was different; different in a way Xander would never admit.

"He tried. I stopped him. End of discussion. Got it?" She stared him down, watching as his face hardened.

"Yeah, I got it," he said sullenly as he turned back around in the driver's seat and reached down to pop the trunk latch so that she could get her overnight bag out.

"Xander, I stopped him," she said – softening - leaning forward and laying her hand on his shoulder. "And I'm okay. No posttraumatic stress disorder for Buffy. Okay?"

"Okay." he mumbled.

"Good, now promise me you won't say anything to Willow or Giles about it. It's my tale to tell, when and if I feel it needs to be told."

"Yeah I promise."

"Then we're all good," she said giving his shoulder a squeeze, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "See you tonight?"

"With bells on."

"You know, people always say that," Buffy started as she opened the car door and climbed out, "But they never show up wearing any bells." She stopped at the trunk and pulled her bag out, before rounding the car and knocking on the driver's side window.

He rolled down the window. "You forget something?"

"You know I love you, right?" 

"Anya's going to be here tonight, isn't she?"

"Am I getting that easy to see through?" Buffy asked with a wince.

"No… it's just that 'You know I love you, right?' is usually followed by something like 'but you're an idiot' or 'but your formerly-former- vengeance-demon-ex-fiancée-who-pretty-much-hates-you-with-a-fiery-passion-and-would-inflict-grizzly-vengeance-upon-you-and-all-your-manly- parts-if-only-she-could is going to be at dinner tonight, so be good.'" He took a deep breath, and continued. "And seeing as we both already know that I'm an idiot, I had to go with the latter."

Buffy smiled at him, "You know I love you, right?"

"But I'm an idiot," He followed up with a cheesy grin. "Yeah, I'll be on my best behavior and try not to look like I'm still madly in love with her."

"Good," she replied, punctuating it with a kiss on his cheek. "See you tonight." She watched as his car disappeared down the street before turning and making her way to her front door. 

~~~

Clutching a gym bag filled with blood and clothes for Spike closely to her side, Dawn slowly opened the back door and stuck her head in, checking to make sure the coast was clear. When it came to sneaking out she was a pro, sneaking in was a different story.

"Buffy?" she called, eyes wide, mouth set in a hopeful grin. Smiling happily when there was no answer, she threw open the door and sauntered in to the kitchen, pausing to grab a cup for Spike's blood. She was about to head up the stairs when Anya came up from the basement.

"Where have you been?" She demanded frantically. Dawn stopped, clutching the bag closely to her side.

"Out," she stammered. "Getting blood."

"He's still here, isn't he?" Anya asked. "That's why you put a distraction spell on your bedroom, so that if Buffy got home before you did, she wouldn't go in there."

"How did you know that?" Dawn asked curiously. "Is that some demon thing? Can you sense magicks?"

"No, you left the spell book open on my desk in the basement."

Anya shook her head, eyeing Dawn reproachfully. "Which, by the way, was very stupid. If Buffy had gotten here before I did and found it…" She rubbed her temples roughly as she began pacing. "This is very confusing, you know that, don't you? Makes me want to pull my hair out, the way your emotions are all over the place where he's concerned; you miss him one minute, the next every cell in your body is crying out for vengeance, and then in a matter of seconds all is right in the world. What is he doing here anyway?"

"You didn't come home by sunrise, he wouldn't leave until you got home."

"So he slept in your room?" she turned and scrutinized Dawn intensively, eyes narrowed as if she were looking for something. "Did you have sex with him?"

"God Anya, no," Dawn said quickly, not wanting a repeat of the conversation she and the demon had had the previous night.

"What a shame," Anya sighed. "You really don't know what you're missing."

"And I intend to keep it that way. Now excuse me, I have a vampire to feed." Dawn left the kitchen, mounting the stairs.

"Did you get him clothes?" Anya asked, trailing her. "Because I think he's still wearing the ones he left in, and he stinks."

"Yeah. Took me forever to find something that wasn't charred. Did you know his crypt had been blown up?"

"No," Anya replied, surprised. "How did that happen?" 

They reached the second floor and turned towards Dawn's room, stopping at the door.

"Clem had no idea." Dawn paused, looking at her bedroom door, then back to Anya. "So… where did you take off to last night."

"Vegas. Vengeance."

"How did it go?" Dawn asked, once again eyeing her bedroom door. There was something she was supposed to be doing, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"It didn't. Very unsatisfactory." She glanced at the door and then shook her head. "Was there a reason we came upstairs?"

"I was just wondering the same thing," Dawn admitted. "Guess if we did it wasn't very important. You hungry?"

Anya thought about it for a moment, "Yeah, I am. Want a grilled cheese sandwich?"

"Sure."

"What's in the bag?" Anya asked half way down the stairs.

Dawn clutched the bag still slung over her shoulder, "Oh my God! Spike."

"You forgot to remove the spell before you went upstairs, didn't you?" Anya chided, smacking Dawn on the shoulder.

"Yeah." Dawn responded with an embarrassed giggle. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, reading from it the words that would end the spell.

They had just reached the landing when they heard the front door open and close. Buffy called out from downstairs. "Dawn? Anya? I'm home."

"Oh god, Buffy's back." Dawn gasped frantically. 

"Go feed your vampire," Anya ordered, pushing Dawn towards her bedroom door. "I'll take care of Buffy."


End file.
